No Winter Lasts Forever
by rebekafanfic
Summary: A season 8 fix-it where everything happens the same, yet so different. Jonerys centric, starting from 803.
1. the battle for the dawn: part I

It was a kind of cold she never felt before.

In the past few days, she was getting to get used to the cold of Winterfell. Its unforgiving, inescapable cold environment from both its climate and its residents. Harsh looks and cold eyes greeted her everywhere she went, and from everyone, she tried to be pleasant and kind to.

_Sansa Stark._

_All the lords and ladies._

_Even the servants._

The only warmth she was getting was from her people who were loyal to her and loved her dearly. From her dragons – her children – who stood by her side always, protected her ever since they were babies. She remembered the way her people would smile at her and thank her. To be loved again, to be respected, is something she missed the most.

_And Jon. _

_No. Not Jon. _

_Aegon. Aegon Targaryen. _

_My brother's son._

_The late Prince's son._

_The true heir._

She's very aware he's behind her, a cold reminder of the man he was only hours before, but no longer is.

_You have a claim to the Iron Throne._

Fortunately, she's reached the hill her children waited upon soon enough, without having to face the hard truth of a man that currently walked in her hills. Only the sound of frenzied shouts and loud commands reached her ears from the ground below them.

She looked at the scene below, only the flaming torches offering a small beacon of light against the sea of darkness that the army of the dead is bringing.

As a wave of fire that suddenly spread through her Dothraki, her spine straightened and she stood a little taller, the battle cries of her khalasar waving their flaming arakhs fueled the same blaze into her heart.

_Qoy Qoyi._

Fire and Blood.

And so, the battle for the living has begun.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

He could hear the yells of the Dothraki in front of them, and the Unsullied's Valyrian commands from next to him.

Then, the impossible happened – the screams of the horselords filled the air as their arakhs became alight. He even has to look away, for the sudden light in the endless night hurts his eyes.

The savage army charged against the invisible darkness then, descending from the rest of the army like an orange wave. Above them, flaming missiles tore through the sky. Suddenly, the orange wave stops, halting as if they crashed into a wall.

Half a minute. That's all it took.

_It was not war for them. It was sport. _He remembered back his own words as he – and as he looked around everyone else – stared in shock. They couldn't do anything just watch as the flames of the arakhs faded out while the battle cries of the Dothraki – the most fearless warriors he's ever met on a battlefield, the army that had his men shake in fear during the battle on the road back from Highgarden – died out within seconds, and got replaced by nothing but terrifying silence. Tens of thousands of flames sputtered into nothing.

It's silent and dark again.

The silence of death.

The calm before the coming storm.

Behind him, man talked and whispered, trying to find out what they've just witnessed.

He watched as a few filthy horses made it back, most of them without a rider.

The screeching sound could be heard again then, in the distance.

Before Jaime even had time to grasp the reality of what was happening, he found himself surrounded by the sound of groaning, the clash of swords, the gurgling sound of mending and the unmistakable screeching of the cold, blue–eyed creatures that were living, breathing people, just like him, not long ago.

As he looked around the battlefield, he realized how strange it is still to find the same women and men fighting beside him. The same people who not long ago didn't fight beside him but rather faced him as they all fought for different kings or queens, for lands and thrones.

But now, it didn't matter. Kings, queens, titles, lands, and claims were forgotten, the only thing that matters is surviving together. Now, all of them had one common enemy they can fight against. United.

„_Why should we let you stay here?"_

_He still looked at her with a kind of awe. Everyone in King's Landing believed the little girl Arya Stark has perished when his nephew – his son – took Ned Stark's head. Nobody thought about her afterward, thinking she died somewhere in the streets of the city. She was forgotten until he'd met Brienne, but even though Brienne has sworn to protect the two Stark girls, he thought her foolish for believing that Arya was alive._

_And now, Arya Stark stood in front of him, with a posture of a secret warrior, sword and dagger detached to her hips, determined and vengeful look on her face. When it comes to looks, the moment he saw her his mind was flooded with the memories of another Stark woman, Lyanna. He saw enough in his life to know that you can't always judge someone by there age or gender or height. A short, young girl can be just as deadly, if not more, than the most famous knight._

„_Kingslayer. You attacked my father on the streets of King's Landing. You had him beheaded." she spat with hate._

„_I wasn't there when your father died."_

„_My sister is right. You tried to kill our family." he heard Sansa Stark agreeing._

_He took a moment to get his thoughts together then looked between the two sisters. „We were at war. I was trying to keep my family safe, just as much as you and your family did," he said and looked at Arya. „I would do it again if it would mean my family survives." _

„_The things we do for love." _

_Jaime closed his eyes for a second then looked at the boy in the chair. Something about Bran rattled him. The fact that he did not tell anyone about what happened in that tower so many years ago, have rattled him._

„_Why should we trust you? Why should we let you fight with us?" his attention was back on Arya again. _

_He took a deep breath and looked the girl in the eyes. He stood tall and was not afraid, because he knew that he was actually telling the truth._

„_I know I have a reputation because of the things I've done. But in the past few years I've grown enough to know what's right and what's bad." he saw Arya's squinting her eyes a little, curiously listening so he continued. „I know now who I have to fight against. I know who the real enemy is."_

A fast-approaching pair of blue eyes quickly shook him out of his memories. Brienne defending him that led to the acceptance of him by the Starks and the Dragon Queen happened only a few days ago, but it felt like a lifetime has passed since his arrival to Winterfell.

But there was no time to dwell on his past, or the past he had shared with the people he was fighting side by side right now.

A dead man pushed him back, thousands of arms grasping for him, trying to pull him down. He yelled and pushed his arm out, metal hand slamming against everything it can reach.

He thrust his sword through the dead men. Then another then another. It felt like the army of the dead would never end. He killed one and found himself facing against three at its place. They seemed like they don't stop at any point, they just kept coming no matter how many he cuts off. He couldn't really see people around him or see what was happening to others. Waves and waves of them came and nobody would be able to stop them.

Fiery arrows have torn through the sky above the massacre, trying to find a dead when they landed. On the castle wall, men with oiled filled barrels stood ready to light as many of them on fire as they could if it comes that the dead reached the castle.

But he started to believe all the preparation would not be enough.

He started to believe nothing will be able to stop them.

Then just when all hope seemed lost, Jaime looked up in awe as the sky became alight with the fire of dragons, lighting the one line of oil barrels in front of them, the cold-eyed creatures burning away.

The dead that were closer and closer to the living moments ago now were nowhere. All that's left in their place was fire, cleansing the world of evil. The first line of the Night King's army was broken by the Dragon Queen and her dragons, giving the living a moment to regroup before the second wave comes.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

The night was so black that she hadn't even seen anything at first. All she knew was that they have to rain fire to their enemies. _Dracarys _she said again and again, and the dragons illuminated the black sea of dead. Daenerys took a moment to glance behind her, barely making out the silhouette of Rhaeg and Jon, flying closely, following her and Drogon. They had managed to thin the number of dead men from a great height, giving a moment to their troops on the ground to recollect themselves. Hopefully, by the time the army of the dead reached the gates of Winterfell, it was going to be half a size. Maybe it would be if the Dothraki wouldn't have added to the numbers.

_I've brought them to their deaths. _Daenerys thought bitterly as she screamed, again and again, letting out her sorrow and anger through the fire her son has cast on the enemy.

„Jon!" she tried to reach him through the chaos. She realized he wasn't close enough to hear her through the chaos, so she held onto Drogon's spikes harder and flew closer to them. „JON!" she tried harder and to her relief, his eyes met his. „They're not fairing well down there! Go!"

„I won't leave you up here alone!" she heard him shout back. „We have to protect Bran!"

„I will protect him! When the Night King comes you can join us on Rhaegal again! But your men need you now!" Daenerys shouted. He still looked unconvinced, but he looked down to the ground, and after curt nod, Jon and Rhaegal took a sharp turn, descending towards the earth gracefully before landing amongst their army with a loud thud, leaving Daenerys and Drogon alone in the sky. She saw him sliding down from her son's back, immediately greeted by what seemed like Jaime Lannister and about half a dozen red priestess.

_Melisandre?_ Daenerys thought as she looked at the scene below them. _That explains the Dothraki fire_.

There was not much time for conversations.

She saw Rhaegal taking to the sky again, lighting the second line of oil-filled barrels they've placed on the field that would give them some time to regroup.

Circling above Jon, protecting his rider.

_Protecting his blood, _she thought as she saw Rhaegal staying close to Jon after lighting the barrels.

Daenerys shook her head and flew towards the Godswood. _There's no time to dwell on it now._

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

As his feet landed on the ground found himself in the middle of the chaos again. He patted Rhaegal's snout quickly before the dragon took off to join his mother and brother in the skies again. Jon followed him with his eyes for a few moments, only to realize that Rhaegal wouldn't go follow the others, but rather stayed near, circling above him protectively.

Jon didn't know much about dragons yet, but what he's learned from his childhood stories and from Daenerys is that dragons have a special bond with their riders. He never really understood that, if he was being honest. He's always felt a connection to Ghost like he was a part of him, but with dragons, Dany described as if the riders and their dragon's mind was one and the same. He's already seen it on Dragonstone when he watched her interacting with Drogon, but he still didn't really understand it.

_Until now._

The moment he climbed on Rhaegal the day before, it was like his whole being was shared with the dragon underneath him. Jon felt a kind of connection he's never felt before as if he could hear the dragon's thought echoing in his own mind. He didn't even have to direct Rhageal like one have to direct a horse – dragons are intelligent creatures, he knows that but it was as if he knew where Jon wanted to go without even telling him. He never thought something like this was possible, he believed it only existed in Old Nan's stories and never thought he would experience it. Even as a child, when Robb and he have pretended to be Targaryen knights he never would've believed their play would become reality one day. He was just the bastard boy of Winterfell. Why would he have a reason to wish for something like this?

_I guess I have my answers now_ he thought as he watched Rhaegal. He tried telling him to go and join his mother as he saw them flying towards the Godswood but felt the dragon's refusal.

_Protect. _Jon felt the dragon's answer in his mind_. Protect. Brother protects mother. I protect you. _

_Protect her. _Jon wanted to argue but was shaken out of his thought by men approaching him. He glanced one last look at Rhaegal then with a deep sigh he joined his men.

„Your Grace!" Jon heard Jaime Lannister calling for him.

_I'm not a King. I'm not the King._

„How many?"

„Almost all the Dothraki are gone only a few of them made it back. If not for Ser Jorah deciding to retreat all of them would be facing us on the battlefield by now. The Unsullied managed to hold the front but Sir Brienne and the army of the Vale almost lost the right side." Jaime informed him as they walked toward the remaining army, catching up with Grey Worm who was currently giving out orders to regroup the Unsullied that survived the first attack. „If you and the Queen wouldn't have come with the dragons the dead would've already flowed the castle."

Jon could only nod curtly to that.

„We only have a few minutes until the fire goes out we have to regroup quickly." Jon heard Jaime saying next to him but his attention was on the approaching figures not far from them.

He couldn't really see who they were, but some kind of sense of familiarity filled him as he watched their dark silhouettes moving closer and closer. The realization hit him when they were close enough for the light from the burning fires to make them recognizable. Not all of them, but the one walking in front, seemingly leading the others.

„We meet again, Jon Snow." he heard the haunting voice of the Red Priestess as his eyes took her in, her appearance oddly filling him with both anger and some kind of hope.

„Melisandre." Jon turned to her. He looked at the other women around her, all of them looking at him with an odd expression. „I've warned you to never set foot in the North again."

„There's no time dwell on the past now, Jon Snow. And there's no need to execute me." Melisandre said as she took a step closer to him. „I'm going to be dead before dawn."

„Why are you here, then?"

„The Lord of the Light sent us to fulfill our destiny. To give our lives to the one who was promised to lead us."

Jon felt a chill run down his spine, but it was not caused by the cold weather or the unshakable feeling of impending death. In the past, he often didn't understand the motive behind the Melisandre's actions or the meanings of what she spoke – just like now. But somehow as he looked into her eyes and to the eyes of the other priestess, for the very first time since he became familiar with their powers, a feeling of trust and gratitude washed over him. _We need every help we can get. Maybe having the Lord of the Light and his followers on our side is not a bad thing at all._ „Very well. Do what you must." He nodded.

„Jon…" it was Jaime Lannister's voice that got his attention again. Jon looked at him but the Kingslayer's wasn't looking at him but looked behind him over his shoulders. „We don't have time."

Jon moved around and looked in the distance where Jaime was looking at. His eyes found it quickly and even if he wouldn't see it, he would have heard it a second later. Rhaegal screeched above them, already raining fire tot he ground, the orange illuminating the dark horde that was moving closer and closer every second.

There, in the distance the dead was coming again, followed by a storm. A storm that looked like cold death itself.

Jon shot out orders to the men behind him, but his eyes never left the storm as everyone got in formations, the remaining of their armies taking up their new positions.

He knew exactly who was coming, what the storm was bringing within itself.

„Rhaegal!" he shouted to the dragon who was still breathing fire between them and the dead. Off in the distance, he noticed Daenerys and Drogon on the edge of the storm, then not a second later, they were gone from his sight, swallowed up in the dark and cold clouds.

_Daenerys._

_Bran._

_Dany._

_I have to get to them._

„Rhaegal!" he tried again and stepped forward, looking up at the dragon trying to tell him to get down until he felt a hand on his forearm.

„You have to stay here, My Prince!" he whipped around and was met again by the piercing eyes of Melisandre.

„I have to go back to help them." he tried to argue.

„You are exactly where you're supposed to be." she grabbed his forearm again. „Just as Her Grace and the Three–Eyed Raven. We've come to help and we know what has to be done. We have a role just as you and her and everyone else. For now, yours is to lead your people on the ground."

He yanked his arms out of her grasp and hesitantly looked up again, eyes searching for any sign of Dany.

_Dany._

_Dany._

_Where are you?_

„I've told you before, Lord Snow." he looked back at her. „There's a reason why he brought you back. Stay. You're exactly where you need to be for now. We'll protect your brother. When the time comes, he'll know what he has to do, I believe he's already waiting for us."

_Bran knows what he has to do. _That was something he somehow believed. _But I have to help him. And Dany. I have to help Dany. I can't leave her up there all alone. _

„Her son will protect her. She also has her role in all this, a fight she has to fight alone." Melisandre said to his surprise as if she was reading his thoughts.

Jon's internal struggle was interrupted again by Rhaegal. Both of them looked up and he realized there was no other way now because the dead broke through the line of fire not far from them. With a heavy sigh, he looked back at Melisandre. „Go!GO!" he yelled and within a second, the group of priestess took their way toward the Godswood through the army, the man opening their line for them to pass then immediately stepping back, closing Jon's line of sight of them.

With a groan he gripped and drew Longclaw while he rushed tot he head of the army, nodding at Jaime with a silent agreement.

_I hope it was the right decision_ was the last thing he thought before they met with the sea of dead again.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

The unmistakable screeching reached her hears again, signaling the arrival of the second wave. The dead broke through the dying fire line Rhaegal cast only a few minutes ago and started to descend on the living.

Her eyes involuntarily searched for Jon again. It would have been impossible for her to found him in the chaos, if not for her son signaling his position, flying close to him, raining fire to the dead man that tried to kill his rider.

She watched in horror as the two armies clashed.

Her heart said to join them, while her mind argued to stay close and protect Bran. She never could watch her people fighting her war for her, while she watches in the distance_. No. She's not the Queen they go to war for. She's the Queen they follow to war. She'll not stand still. _

Suddenly, just as she made Drogon to turn back to join the fight, she felt tiny icicles scratching her cheeks, trying to cut deep to the bone, like the claws of the blue-eyed monsters. She found it hard to even keep her eyes open, the storm making it hard to breathe. It took her a few moments to get herself together and when she opened her eyes again, she found herself face to face with a two pair of blue eyes that haunted her dreams ever since that fateful day beyond the wall.

The dark figure came with the storm, riding his frozen beast. The beast groaned and growled beneath him. Just as she suspected before, this creature was powerful and magic must have flown through his veins. Not like his mindless army that was his army. Her sweet son was under his control now.

With the storm, the Night King has arrived.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

Daenerys felt her chest tightening and her heart sinking to her stomach as she raced after her dead son.

_No. He's not my son._

_Not anymore._

She was not sure about the Night King's intentions, for he was not flying towards the Godswood but away from the battle. _Could it be a trap? _She wondered but couldn't stop herself from following them, the Night King not even glancing back at her.

The pain in her chest ached even more as Drogon cried out as if to call to the brother he lost, trying to communicate with whatever was left of Viserion.

_But he's gone. _

Whatever that's left of him was only a slave to the Night King.

_But a dragon is no slave. Alive or dead._

Viserion seemed much faster than she remembered. They were getting more away with every passing second and Daenerys found it harder and harder to keep up with the Night King. They flew higher and higher in the skies, and a moment later, she lost sight of Viserion. She circled above the storm, trying to stay as high as she could out of the clouds to be able to see the air around them.

_Where are you?_

Suddenly everything became so silent, even the cries of the battle seemed far away. As if the silence was signaling their coming, not a moment later Dany felt something crash into Drogon's belly as nothing but blue fire surrounded them. Her eyes widened as for the first time since his death, Dany looked at Viserion. His features still the same yet couldn't be more different.

Her dead son's eyes were cold blue and dead as she looked into them. Without hesitation, Viserion spat his scorching blue fire at them due to his slaver's silent command.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

„Loose!"

Jon heard someone shout from the castle walls as he plunged his dragonglass blade into a wight. Hundreds of fiery arrowheads filled the skies above them, hitting dozens of dead. The armies clashed against each other, the dead already between the army of the living after getting through the gaps between the Unsullied's dragonglass headed spears. The dead ran over both each other and the living as screams and cries filled the air.

„Hold it! Hold the castle!" Jon yelled as he cut his way through the dead around him aimlessly. There's no need to aim when anywhere one swing their sword could find a target. „We can't let them get in!"

He chanced a glance up looking for Daenerys and Drogon, watching them disappear in the clouds chasing the Night King andViserion.

_I should be up there with them._

_With her._

After killing another wight, his attention was on the skies again, his eyes searching for any signs of Daenerys.

An unmistakable screech made him and others around look up and turn to the left.

_I really should be up there. _

„Jon!" he heard someone calling his name. He tore his eyes away from the sky and slashed at a wight that was frighteningly close in front of him.

„Jon! Concentrate!"

Jon looked for the voice and was met by the image of his sister Arya spinning around with a spar, slashing wights around her left and right.

„What are you doing here?" he asked.

„Focus, Jon!"

Jon wanted to argue with her, to convince her to leave and find safety. But as he watched her fight, he realized she was handling herself better than most. She fought fiercely, not losing breath or momentum of her movement.

Suddenly, they heard the scream of a dragon closer than before, and they both turned their head to find the fighting dragons clawing at each other's throats, slowly but surely plummeting towards the earth, twisting and turning around each other.

Jon could feel the eyes of Arya on him and he was sure what she saw were dread and fear.

Rhaegal was still circling above them and just as Jon was about to ask for him, he saw a shadow of a person falling towards the ground.

His heart almost stopped until he realized it was not Dany, but the Night King that was falling, landing somewhere near the Godswood.

Viserion flew away, clearly disoriented without his rider, a dead dragon not as intelligent as his living brothers.

He couldn't do anything but to stand still, watching Daenerys and Drogon looming over the Night King, bathing him in dragon fire.

_Please. _

_Please._

_Let this be the end._

He held his breath, the scene before him haunting yet beautiful. The fire consumed the Night King, so much fire, he couldn't even see his form anymore in it.

He felt the spark of hope inside him, only to be crushed when the fire died out and the Night King stood unharmed.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

_It didn't work._

_Why didn't it work?_

It was unimaginable to her, to think about how they could defeat the Night King when not even dragon fire was useful against him. Daenerys mind was racing, for she was sure the magic of her son would destroy their enemy. It should have since the Night King himself must be a creature of magic.

_Magic._

_Bran._

_It must be Bran then. That's why the Night King's looking for him. _

_Bran is the who's able to destroy him._

_I have to tell them!_

She told Drogon to turn back towards the Godswood, but she felt her son's refusal in her mind, the restlessness radiating from him. He tossed and shook his head while they were receding from where they were supposed to be.

„Drogon!" she shouted, clutching to his spikes hard as they flew further into the storm. „Drogon! Emi naejot jikagon arlī! (We have to go back!)" she tried again and again but her son didn't turn.

„Pālegon arlī! (Turn back!)" she tried again but her voice was cut short when she looked behind them, and her breath got caught in her throat as she noticed a pair of cold blue eyes chasing them silently.

Maybe in her mind, there was still a lingering connection to her sweet son, maybe it was just pure luck; but she looked behind them just in the right moment to see Viserion's mouth to open, ready to cast his fire.

„Drogon! Inkot īlva! (Behind us!)" she screamed through the raging wind around them. „Jurnegon hen! (Look out!)"

Drogon ducked suddenly, barely missing the blue fire that found nothing but air as it missed its target.

„Jiōragon close naejot zirȳla! (Get close to him!)" she commanded. Drogon raced through the air, twisting and turning, dodging any attempt from his late brother to harm them. When they were higher in the sky, she saw the opportunity then. „Sir! (Now!)" With quick halt, there was a moment Daenerys felt weightless as if the world and all its misery didn't exist.

At that moment, nothing existed, only Drogon and her. She felt their connection as strong as never before. But the moment passed as quick as it came, and Drogon turned around, ducking down to Viserion from above, using gravity, surprising him. Viserion took a sharp left turn at the last minute, but with Drogon's calculated attack they were face to face.

Dany looked at him them, truly now, for the first time. A part of his face was missing, torn out by Drogon before the Night King has fallen from his back.

„Ñuha dōna valītsos, (my sweet boy)" she whispered brokenly as she felt tears sliding down her cheek. „Iksan sīr vaoreznuni! Nyke'll mazilībagon ao dāez sir! (I'm so sorry! I'll set you free now!)" Daenerys promised him but also to herself. She had to do it, she had to do it, it was her responsibility to free her sweet son from his eternal misery.

She needed a moment to regain her shattered heart before releasing the word she never thought she would ever have to use against one of her own.

„Dracarys!" she shouted and for the first time in more than a hundred years, two dragons' fire clashed against each other.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

_Jon!_

_Jon!_

He heard faintly, but it sounded like the voice came from behind a glass, like a vague memory. Jon wanted to turn his head towards it, to look for it, he knew he should. But the cries from the battle sounded far away like it happened a long time ago and he was just someone watching it in a vision.

_Jon!_

He heard again, but all he could do was stare at the face that hunted his dreams for a long time now, ever since that fateful day at Hardhome.

_Jon!_

He turned around then, breaking himself from the trance he found himself in. „Get to the walkers if you can!" He shouted to her sister in the middle of the chaos. He looked back at the Night King then, who was still standing in the middle of the burned spot, smirking at Jon.

_Dearing._

_Challenging._

Jon felt his anger rise as he watched the figure, his inner wolf snapping inside him, demanding to be set free.

_Or is it the dragon in me awakening? _

The moment he saw the Night King slowly pulling his sword, Jon felt his legs moving without even thinking about it.

„Jon!" he heard Arya calling after him. „Jon, don't! What are you doing?" she screamed as she cut down the wights around her.

He didn't listen, he couldn't listen. He's going to end it, alone, if he has to, even it means giving his own life. „Stay back!" he shouted back, not even turning, his feet still carrying him towards the awaiting Night King. He continued to tear through the wights that came in his way, fighting his way out of the clashing armies. He could no longer see Arya but heard her voice as he continued to shout commands while running down the lines.

As if to Jon's will, Rhagel appeared above him, flying from behind him towards the way he was running, clearing the path in front of him, then turning back to rejoin the fight that was now behind him.

He halted for a moment, waiting for the fire to die out. Faintly, through the flames, he was still able to see the Night King on the other side. He didn't move an inch, as if he was waiting for Jon to come to him.

_Oh, rest assured, I am coming for you. _

Jon breathed hard, his thoughts raging.

_You killed them._

_At Hardhome._

_Here._

_Thousands of people._

In the distance, he saw the fire. Orange and blue against each other, painting the sky in colors during their dance.

_Dany._

He watched as the colors chased each other until he couldn't look at it anymore, the knots in his stomach becoming tighter and tighter at the sight.

He realized the path in front of him cleared, the fire died out. For a moment the Night King looked up towards where the dragons fought, then his eyes found Jon's again, mouth pulled up in what Jon could only describe as a smirk.

As an answer, Jon drew Longclaw from its scabbard and charged.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

Two brothers against each other.

Daenaerys knew he had to keep Drogon moving, for if they stopped even for a moment, it could be their demise. She could fall, leaving her sons and people to themselves or even with just one bad move, Viserion could wound Drogon fatally.

She won't let that happen.

Twisting and turning again, they hid in the storm, hiding behind its clouds. They couldn't stay still or lose momentum even for a second, for it could be their last. She felt herself tire with each passing moment, tired from holding onto Drogon, tired from the fight; and not just this one, but the constant fight in all her life. Her voice became void from shouting commands all night and from the cold weather around them.

_But she can't give up now._

_Not ever._

As a result of the constant movement and chasing of each other, Dany realized the three of them made it out of the other side of the storm.

And then, she immediately attacked.

Twisting and turning.

Twisting and turning.

At Daenerys's command, her son continued to lunge for the other dragon's neck, but couldn't secure his a grip on him when Viserion let out an enormous amount of blue flame as he trashed against Drogon's pull.

Their attacking method changed then. She was switching positions constantly, trying to distract Viserion. Drogon snapped at his belly and when Viserion tried to bite down, her son dived, flying above quickly, snapping at Viserion's back.

From under and above, from left and right.

Trying to pick Viserion to pieces, not giving time to him to keep up.

With all her might, she tried to keep on as best as she could, but it became harder and harder to hold on as Drogon made his sudden moves. As she tried to recover her balance, she saw a spear move across the air, barely missing Drogon's right wing.

„Drogon!" she screamed. Daenerys looked down beneath them then and to her horror, she saw a group of walkers emerging from the storm, spears, and bows in their hands. Arrows filled the air around them a moment later. Most of it bounced off of Drogon's thick skin, but she saw one flying directly towards her.

She ducked in the last moment, the arrow missing her.

Barely. Almost.

She felt the tip of it graze her head, cutting through her flesh.

She screamed out at the pain and felt blood immediately dropping into her eyes, blurring her vision. Daenerys tried to rub it out but failed, her frantic breathing making Drogon nervous under her as he let out a mighty roar, louder than any she's ever heard before, as an answer to his mother's pain.

Drogon became more and more restless as he sensed his mother's agony, which led to him lose his momentum, giving Viserion a chance to overpower them.

A second later, they were plummeting towards the earth, Viserion between Drogon's nails. Just before they hit the ground, Drogon deflated his wings, slowing them down as he landed, pushing his dead brother into the snow landing on top of him.

He let out an earth-shattering roar and bit down on Viserion's neck, but failed again as the dragon on the ground clawed into Drogon's belly. The angry cries of dragons filled the air as they continued to clash now on the ground.

Daenerys managed to clear her eyes from the blood and open both again, tightly holding onto Drogon as he moved beneath her. She was powerless now, for the two dragons were in their own minds now, oblivious to the world around them, their only goal seems to be to overpower the other.

Remembering the arrows and spares, Daenerys looked behind her and let out a shaky breath when she saw the walkers walking towards them. She knew Drogon will not be able to descend to the sky until Viserion is down there with them.

Now all she could do was to hope that Drogon kills Viserion before the walkers arrive to kill them both.

_Let us end his misery before we meet our doom._

_Let our death be meaningful._


	2. the battle for the dawn: part II

Growing up in Winterfell, Theon knew the Godswood's every corner like the back of his hand. He recognized every tree, every rock and knew the meaning of every little sound.

That's why the dark, eerie quiet that surrounded them now rooted a deep fear within him. The anticipation of something deadly coming hung in the air as the silence somehow outgrew the fighting around him. He looked around and saw his men starting to fall, the task to keep the dead away was soon becoming a lost cause. Their barrels were empty of arrows, their bodies losing more strength, just like his. They all started to fall around him.

Above, somewhere in the storm, Theon could see orange and blue lights clashing against each other as the dragons danced.

Behind him, Bran was below the Heart Tree, looking as nonchalant as ever, as if there weren't screeching dead men just a few feet from where he was sitting. Theon watched him, thinking about their past for a moment. _How ironic_. A few years ago, he was trying to kill him and his little brother and now, he was trusted to protect his life.

An approaching wight shook him out of his thoughts. He tried to swing his bow to slow down the dead's advance but failed as it tackled him to the ground into the snow. He managed to get the dragonglass blade out and thrusted it straight into its left eye, then crawled backwards before it could fall on top of him.

The dead seemed to disappear with only their scattered bones remaining on the ground around them.

A moment of silence.

A sudden sense of panic flowed through him as Theon looked around again, realizing that he and Bran were the only ones left alive.

„Bran?" he asked as he walked closer to the Heart Tree. „Bran, where's Jon? What should we do?" Even he could hear the desperation in his own voice.

„Everything is going to happen the way it is suppose to happen. There can be no other way," Bran answered evenly. „Help is on its way," Theon noticed him looking past his shoulder, then turned back to continue staring ahead into nothing.

Theon turned around quickly, dragonglass still in hand. He took a deep breath while looking between the trees, eyes observing the darkness, searching for any kind of movement.

But there was nothing.

He turned to ask Bran what it was they were waiting for, but before he could open his mouth, he heard the sound of crunching snow. Theon put himself in front of Bran and raised his blade, ready to cut down anything that was coming for them, ready to give his life for the boy behind him.

„Lower your blade, Theon Greyjoy," he heard a woman's voice say. A moment later, he saw a group of women, dressed in red, stepping out of the shadows. „We did not come to hurt you. We are not your enemies."

She looked behind him then directly at Bran and Theon followed her eyes. „The Lord of the Light has his plans for everyone tonight. We're only his means to help you execute it. Everything has to happen in the way he intends to."

Theon looked between the woman and Bran, not fully understanding the meaning behind their words. But Bran nodded, and that was enough for him. Theon stepped aside as the women, who he realized must be the Red Priestesses from Asshai, gathered around Bran and the Heart Tree, facing away from him forming a protective circle.

Just then, from the direction they came from, he heard more footsteps approaching.

„Are there more of you coming?" Theon asked without looking back. When he didn't get an answer, he turned and saw the woman who spoke before simply shaking her head.

He looked back towards the trees, and even without seeing their figures,he immediately knew who were coming. A pair of glowing blue eyes shone in the dark and Theon's breath caught in his throat as dead men emerged from the trees. They were different than the screeching boney figures from before. They were not as fleshless and broken as them, and as hard as it was to admit, their movements seemed so…calculated. Intelligent, even.

They didn't attack, they didn't make a sound.

They just stopped and stared.

_These must be the White Walkers. _

_But why aren't they attacking? Why wait? Where is the Night King? Are they trying to save time for their leader? _

They must be since not so long ago, Theon saw the dragons fighting in the sky, which meant either the Queen or Jon were keeping him occupied for now.

„Theon," he heard Bran call for him and he looked back. „There's a reason for everything that's happening in this battle. Everything that has to happen. You're good man, Theon. Thank you."

Understanding dawned upon him then.

„I'm going to go now," Bran said while looking at the Red Woman, who simply nodded.

„Go where?" Theon asked, but when the words left his mouth, Bran's hand was already on the Heart Tree and his eyes rolled back.

Theon looked at one of the Red Woman instead, whose eyes were gazing intensely at the White Walkers. Theon turned around just in time to see one of them stepping closer, ice sword in hand, ready to attack.

_Yes. Now, he understood._

_An impossible task_, he thought. But it's the least he could do.

He felt his tears slide down his cheeks. He tightly gripped the handle of the blade in his hands. After taking a deep breath, he started running, his mind filling with memories of the life he had led.

_Winterfell._

_Robb's smile._

_Ned's hands on his shoulders._

_Winterfell burning._

_Yara._

_Ramsay._

_Sansa._

_The Dragon Queen giving them a chance._

_Jon's words. Stark and Greyjoy._

_Winterfell again. _

_Home. Home._

It happened quicker than he thought it would. A cold hand closing around his neck, a cold blade cutting into him.

Cold and painful.

Yet, he didn't feel either.

The last and only thing he felt was pride as he heard the words ringing in his head.

_What is dead may never die._

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

Screams echoed in the dark night as the battle still raged not far behind him. Ahead of him, the edge of the Godswood stood silent.

_I can't let him go there._

Jon swung his sword as hard as he could, with a force that would easily crush his enemy any other time. But it was different now. Longlclaw stopped in mid-air as the Night King's own blade met with it. The force of the clash ran up into his arm, tickling his nerves as he felt it rise into his shoulder. Again and again, he swung his sword, but each time, the Night King managed to parry his attack with a swift turn.

Desperation started to fill him when each of his attacks failed, his enemy never tiring, while Jon already felt himself rapidly losing his strength, barely a few minutes into their fight.

With a sudden move, the Night King twisted and kicked him in the chest. Jon flew back a few feet and landed sprawling out on his back in the snow.

His lungs gasping for air, he heaved as he struggled to breath again. His abdomen burned from the force of the kick, and he thought his chest must have been covered in black and blue bruises already.

_This can't be it._

_I can't give up now._

He reached out for his sword that was laying next to him, and with a grunt, he rose up, using Longclaw to brace himself.

He struck again.

Again and again.

He couldn't lose momentum.

He couldn't let him go away.

_Keep him occupied._

Jon struggled against the inhuman strength, trying to keep up with the Night King's advances, Longclaw moving as an extension of his arm.

He blocked everything out, only the enemy in front of him existed. He heard nothing but his own panting and the clashing of their swords that rang in his ears so loud, it was almost deafening.

But then, a horrifying sound filled the air. Subconsciously, he turned around instantly, facing the storm not far away.

_Drogon._

_No._

_No._

Jon heard the dragon roar like this before, but only once in his life. The sound was similar to the cry that Viserion let out on that fateful day beyond the wall when the Night King took him out of the sky. That day, Jon thought he would never hear a more painful sound like that again in his life, or at least hoped he never would.

Until now.

His heart couldn't even process it, his chest aching but not from the bruises, but because of his heart crushing it. His mind couldn't come up with a reason for Drogon's misery.

_Only one._

He didn't want to think about _that_. He couldn't. _That_ couldn't have happened. _That_ was no possibility.

And yet…

_Dany._

_No._

_No._

His eyes burned with tears as he saw Rhaegal's descending shadow, flying into the storm, answering his brother's plea with his own roar.

Using the moment of Jon not looking, the Night King twisted and pushed him to the ground. The movement surprised him, and Jon cursed himself for being distracted as he found himself on his knees again.

The Night King loomed over him, looking triumphant, the same smirk plastered on his cold face than before and he couldn't help but think that was the end for him.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

On the ground around them, what remained of the force of the living was staining the snow. Some of them spread about piece by piece or mangled, most of them beyond recognition. If someone would have happened to come across them, even if they would have been familiar with the brutal reality of war, the sight of the dead would have probably caused anyone of them to retch and look away.

But no one wandered close.

Beneath the Weirwood Tree, a ring of fire raged high into the darkened sky. Inside the circle, the Red Priestess of Asshai were standing hand in hand, fueling the fire with their magic, preventing the blue-eyed creatures to get close, even though they didn't even try to get past them. They just stood there silently, watching the Priestesses through the fire, waiting.

Sitting in the center of it all, the Tree-Eyed Raven kept his hand on the Heart Tree, eyes rolled back, oblivious to everything that was happening around him.

„Aye ex yosonyo eon me-esias," they all chanted, voice clear and strong. „Aye ex yo sonyo eon m-esias,"

Their voice was confident, but with each passing minute, they had to focus harder. Melisandre's eyes were closed, as were all the other Priestesses' but faintly, they could still hear the screams of battle and the sounds of the dragons in the distance.

But it didn't matter. None of it mattered, because as long as they kept the Three-Eyed Raven alive, the Lord of the Light wouldn't abandon them.

„Aye ex yosonyo eon me-esias," They continued as the war for the living continued to rage. „Aye ex yosonyo eon me-esias," Their spell rang through the air and Melisandre knew the battle was nearing its end and the fate of the living will soon be decided.

Now it was all up to the promised ones to finally fulfill their destiny.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

The air was quiet and cold, even though the sun ave already come up, trying to pierce through the clouds in the morning after the battle.

The Three-Eyed Raven looked to his right as he walked through the battlefield and saw the remains of the three dragons laying close to each other, wings and parts of their bellies and heads missing.

On the biggest one's back, in contrast to the dragons' blackened skin, he could faintly see the Dragon Queen's silver tresses. He couldn't see the rest of her body, only one of her arm that was hanging limply, blood dripping from it, painting the white snow red beneath her.

Everything was lost.

_But this was not the reality, was it? Or at least, not yet._

But it would happen if they didn't finish their thousands year old pursuit.

His legs were not his own, carrying him until he arrived in a clearing. That's when he saw him.

The Night King must have sensed him immediately but didn't turn around to look at him. He waited until the Raven came forward, stepping through the mountains of dead bodies, some of them part of the living, some of them only bones, already dead long before.

„We meet again," he said as he stopped next to the King. The Night King set his eyes on him but didn't say anything. He never spoke. The Raven wasn't sure he was even able to.

But he whispered.

He often heard him in his dreams. They followed him for years, ever since he got the mark on his arm. He heard it when he floated between reality and dreams during the night, or sometimes the voices came with the cold snowy air.

The words were never in a language he understood, he suspected it wasn't even a language that existed, but he always knew the meaning of the words all the same. Prophecies, centuries old, about the coming storm, about the faith of humanity. The one he was seeing now if he looked around the battlefield.

The Raven heard his whispers as the Night King answered, even though his face didn't move an inch, just staring ahead.

The Raven followed his eyes then and was met by the lifeless eyes of the man the living called Jon Snow. His body broken, laying in his own pool of blood that was still pouring from the cut across his chest.

For a brief moment, The Raven felt…was it sadness? Remorse?

He wasn't sure, but they were feelings that Bran Stark would feel.

The King looked at him then and the Raven was looking back into the eyes he knew so well, the same pair of eyes that haunted his dreams ever since their last encounter when the King marked him.

„You want to erase the world's memory," The Raven said. „But I can not let that happen,"

_Your heroes will fail, _he heard the icy whispers. _Look around you, and you can see their faith. You've known this is how it ends. I've told you many times._

„You did," the Raven answered. „I've been hearing from you, ever since that day. You've been haunting me,"

_I know where you are, Raven,_ the Night King told him. _I've known ever since I've put my mark on you. There's nowhere for you to hide. Your tree won't protect you. Your god can't protect you._

The Raven nodded and touched his arms, the mark still burning under his palm. It was a weird feeling still, the connection the Night King created between them all those years ago.

_We are connected, Raven_ he whispered. _I'll find you._

The sea of bodies all around stared at him with dead, empty eyes in the now endless winter. He knew he should've been afraid. No, not him, but Bran. Bran Stark would have been afraid but he is not Bran Stark anymore. He's the Raven now.

The former Bloodraven's voice spoke in his ears and suddenly everything calmed. It was like the world narrowed into a sharp point. All the former Three-Eyed Raven's, even Bran Stark's presence could be felt, but they all seemed more like an echo.

Everything that happened before lead to this point.

He was Bran Stark, he was the Three-Eyed Raven, all the Ravens that were before and yet, he was so much more.

A large raven cawed nearby, the familiar three eyes looking at the two of them before landing on a dead body to scrape the lifeless man's eyes out.

He thought he heard the raven whisper to him then but maybe it was just the wind. But a moment later, in his mind, he heard the Three-Eyed Raven that was before him whispering to him again.

The Raven touched his mark again and that's when he understood.

„This mark you've made," the Raven started. „Was a mistake." He looked up then, and he wasn't sure if it happened or not but he thought he saw the Night King slightly tilting his head in question.

„You marked me to be able to find me, which you're able to," he said. „But what you didn't realize is that the connection you've created works both ways." The Raven stood still, face to face with his enemy. „And now you're near, somewhere in Winterfell and I have the magic of all the Three-Eyed Ravens, the Dragon Queen and her dragons and the Lord of the Light by my side here. Magic surrounds me, magic that makes me stronger."

The Night King just stared at him, unmoving and the Raven knew he didn't understand what he was referring to.

„Now, you'll see why it was your biggest mistake," he said as an answer to the question the Night King didn't ask.

He felt the Night King catching his wrist, the same one that bore his mark. His claws tightened around his flesh, but he didn't try to pull away, just kept his gaze steady as he for the first time, saw a shadow pass Night King's face.

„You can't do anything to me here," he said confidently. „You have no power here nor out there anymore," he told him.

A moment later, the Night King slid out of the vision when he finally realized what was happening.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

This time, their struggle would end and the Night King would meet his doom.

With his eyes closed, he could faintly hear the chanting of the Red Priestess around him where his body was, but his mind traveled somewhere else.

The Night King was strong and his mind was shutting him out constantly, but the Raven knew he was stronger now. Now that he has all Raven's on his side.

He struggled to overpower the Night King's mind. He saw the flashes of the battle, as if he was there as if seeing it with his own eyes.

The Raven felt his hand raising a sword and when he looked down, in his mind's eye he could see Bran's brother kneeling in front of him in the snow.

He felt how the Night King was ready to strike.

The Raven felt his own hands pushing against the Weirdwood tree harder, trying to channel all the magic he needed as he felt the Night King trying to block him out.

_No._

_This ends here._

So he pushed, again and again.

He felt himself control the King's body, only to be pushed out, then being back again another moment later.

An eternal battle between two powerful minds.

The Raven hoped the distraction will be enough for Jon because he was sure his powers will weaken soon and then there will be nothing left that he could do.

Now or never.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

_I failed._

_I'm sorry_.

His stare burned into the Night King's as he raised his ice sword, ready to strike.

Jon closed his eyes, waiting for the impact, the final cut.

But it never came.

He opened his eyes and what greeted him was something he never in his life could've imagined.

The Night King stood a few feet in front of him and dropped his sword while shaking his head furiously, rapidly taking steps back, moving away from him. He looked distracted and nervous, his eyes turning from the familiar, haunting ice blue to ghostly white, changing every second to second.

_What the…_

And then it dawned on him…

_Bran. _

_He must be warging him._

He took Longclaw in his hands and made a run for it, taking advantage of the opportunity that his brother created.

For a moment, Jon slowed in his tracks as he saw something behind the Night King - who was still trying to gain back control - moving like a shadow. At first, he thought it was another supernatural being, and it took him a moment to recognize his sister charging with determination and anger on her face.

„Arya! NO!" he yelled reflexively but he regretted it immediately.

Even in his struggle, the Night King managed to whirl around, and quicker then he thought, he grabbed Arya around the throat and by her hand in which she held a dragonglass blade.

'NO!" Jon yelled desperately as he moved again.

The Night King was occupied with his sister to pay attention to him.

It was all a blur when it happened. Jon saw Arya dropping the blade into her other hand and shoved it into the Night King's chest. Arya dropped to the ground, her breath coming out irregularly, caused by the Night King's hold.

And yet, the Night King stood still with the dragonglass dagger in his chest, while he was shaking his head again.

Looking around them for a second, Jon was able to see the dead closing in again.

Now or never.

Jon yelled as he impaled the Night King with Longclaw from behind, his undefended back giving Jon the perfect opportunity to put his sword through the Night King's cold heart. His hand retreated from Longclaw's hilt and he took a few faltering steps back, praying to all the gods out there that the Night King would die, for real this time, taking all his army with him.

A brief moment passed, it felt like an eternity and Jon was losing hope. He breathed heavily, while his mind was trying to accept defeat.

_They've lost._

This was their opportunity and they've lost.

Everyone will be dead soon, all humanity will cease to exist.

Only because he couldn't kill the Night King.

Suddenly the Night King's trashing stopped. A moment later, an ear-shattering screech filled the night.

Jon held his breath for a moment while he watched the Night King turn into nothing but glittering ice on the ground.

Around them, all the dead shattered a moment later, a wave went through the air.

Jon fell to his knees once again as he released the breath he was holding. His eyes met Arya's then, who also looked around, watching the dead turn into nothing.

The war was over.

And they had won.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

It was a strange sight.

She was struggling on Drogon, trying to hold onto him. She kept looking back behind them only to see the White Walkers becoming closer and closer to them even though the dragons moved on the ground.

Daenerys felt herself losing her strength. She looked up towards the storm behind them and relief washed over her when she spotted her son flying out from behind the clouds. Rhaegal swooped low when he saw his mother.

But then he let out a shriek when he noticed Viserion, and his loud cry gained the White Walker's attention.

Daenerys saw them looking up at her son and she let out a pained cry. „NO!" she yelled.

The White Walkers stopped and aimed their spears at Rhaegal.

_No, please no_, Danerys pleaded. _I can't lose another child, please._

The strangest sensation tore through the air then, as if an answer to her prayers.

For a second it was as if time stood still, silence filled the air only for it to be broken by a screech, the loudest and most inhuman she's ever heard.

She turned towards Viserion and looked into his blue eyes but there was nothing in front of them. Her lost son turned into bones, his remains falling to the ground. Behind them, the same happened with the White Walkers, and just like that, the threat of the dead was no longer.

Daenerys took a deep breath, her mind racing with thoughts.

_That was it?_

_Did we win?_

_How? Who? _

The only thing she was able to hear in the silence was her own ragged breaths. In the distance, she was now able to see the outline of the castle walls as the storm cleared just as fast as it had appeared a few hours ago

_We have drifted far,_ she thought.

Her attention was brought back to her son again as she heard Drogon's soft purrs. Daenerys looked down and saw Drogon nudging his brother's remains with his nose, trying to find at least a sign that the pile of bones was once the brother they knew.

She felt her heart shatter at the sight and Daenerys let out that sob she had been holding in.

She made to move to the ground. Her head was throbbing, her face was covered in dry blood, but she didn't care. Her vision blurred and the only thing she was able to focus on was Viserion. She walked over to him and touched his bones when Rhaegal landed next to Drogon. She wanted to be strong, strong enough for her children, but the moment her hand was on her dead son, she collapsed into the snow, knees hitting the ground.

„I'm sorry" she cried as she leaned her forehead between where her hands rested. „I'm so sorry, my sweet."

Rhaegal sniffed at his dead brother and raised his head towards the now clear sky while letting out a cry, Drogon joining him.

And the three of them mourned together.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

It took him a great while until he found them.

Just after a few minutes of searching, he became frantic, trying to connect with Rhaegal in his mind, but finding no answer.

The only thing Jon felt was the dragon's agony.

Jon released his sister from their hug and grabbed the first horse he was able to find and rode out when he heard the cries of dragons. When he squinted his eyes, he was able to see that in the distance, both dragons were curled up on the ground around something.

_Or someone. _

He kicked the tired horse into a run but the poor animal let out a weary neigh. He urged it again and it took off with haste after the second try.

As he galloped towards the place where the dragons rested, their cries were ringing louder and louder in his ears, giving his stomach a new knot each time he heard it.

_They almost sound like they're mourning._

_No, no, no, _he thought_. She can't be dead._

Ever since finding out about their blood relation, he was conflicted about the nature of their relationship and what would become of them from then on. He was still unsure as there had been no time for him to deal with the knowledge since the dead arrived not long after he had learned the truth. He knew he was going to need some time to process it all. What did it mean for the Queen? What did it mean for _them?_

He knew only time alone would tell.

But he was also sure that even if he would never be able to get over their shared relations, his world would shatter if anything would happen to her.

He would care for her still, no matter what would happen from then on, and Jon would always try his best to look out for her safety and happiness.

When he neared the dragons his horse came to a sudden halt, frightened of their loud cries. Jon leapt off of the saddle quickly and rounded Daenerys's children, his breath coming in quick puffs as he feared what he might find between them.

When he saw her alive, her back to him, he sighed in relief, until he realized she was sobbing. He took in the sight in front of him and realized she was crying over the remains of Viserion. Jon's throat closed in dread as he slowly approached her. He was close when, in the corner of his eyes, he saw Rhaegal's big head approaching him, and he stopped to give his snout a quick pet.

„You did great, boy" he whispered as the green dragon purred because of his touch.

Hearing his voice, Jon noticed Daenerys back to stiffen and her hands went to wipe at her eyes.

She turned around slowly while she was still on the ground and Jon's heart had almost stopped when he saw half of her face covered in dried blood. He was next to her in an instant and cradled her head in his hands. She winced when he touched the deep cut near her hairline.

„I'm alright," she said firmly. „It's just a cut," she added as she grabbed his wrists and pushed them away from her face. Daenerys sighed and sniffled as she tried to put on her queenly mask. „I want to bury him," she said as she put one hand on the bones again.

„We will," Jon promised. „We'll get a cart and bring him back," he said as his heart ached at the sight in front of him.

The sun was just beginning to rise when he finally managed to convince her to go back to the castle.

_The battle was won._

_But at what cost?_


	3. the hardest of truths: part I

The day and a half that followed the battle passed in a blur. After she ended her turn of surveying the damage, Daenerys went to check on the survivors and to oversee the funeral ceremony that was planned to be held later in the evening. Her face had been cleaned of her dried blood but the cut near her hairline continued to throb painfully. Dany refused to visit the Maester until those whose injuries were critical had been cared for.

"My Queen, you should let the Maester clean and bandage it," Missandei told her once they entered the castle after visiting her remaining armies.

"It is just a small scratch, nothing to worry about," she murmured, fully intended to go on with her queenly tasks. The cut did sting but it was not at all life-threatening. However, a moment later, she swayed slightly on her legs, leaning into Missandei for support. Realizing that she wouldn't be able to convince her advisors that she was alright after that misstep, she decided she should just give in to their nagging and let the maester examine her so she could return to her duties as soon as possible.

"Alright then," Daenerys sighed as she was being led into a chamber almost half asleep. "But be quick about it."

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

"Thank you, Maester Wolkan," Daenerys said but she paid little attention to the man, her mind heavy, hundreds of thoughts racing through her head. "I would like to ask you to keep this only between us for a time."

The man bowed and left the room, leaving her alone with her racing mind.

_No._

_That's not possible._

"It can't be," she whispered. "It can't be," she repeated, again and again, numbly staring at a tiny scratch on the wooden floor as she sat on the edge of the bed, hand grasping the covering furs tightly.

_It's not true._

_It can't be true._

Just when she was about to let go and raise her trembling hands, there was a knock on the door so she dropped it in her lap instead.

"Your Grace?" she heard Missandei's voice calling from the other side.

Daenerys shut her eyes tightly, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill. She took a deep breath and swallowed down the lump that grew in her throat. "Come in," she said and with another deep breath, her queenly mask was on her face again.

"Your Grace," Missandei bowed slightly then put a platter of what seemed like at least half a week old bread and pieces of roasted meat down on the nightstand next to her.

_Oh, my dear, restless Missandei. Always taking care of me._

When Daenerys saw she was about to start with cleaning up the linens and pick up the blood drained white fur coat she wore during the battle, she grabbed her friend's hand and stopped her tasks. "Missandei," she smiled at her. "Come sit, my friend, it was an eventful night."

Daenerys smiled at her encouragingly when after a moment of hesitation Missandei sat down next to her on the bed, Daenerys still clutching her hand firmly.

"How do you feel, Your Grace?" Missandei asked, looking at the now cleaned cut on her head.

"I'm fine, it's nothing serious." Dany smiled lightly and squeezed her friend's hand reassuringly. "How's everyone else? Grey Worm?" she asked. "How are _you_?"

"Everyone's fine, Your Grace. Tired, but fine," Missandei said and Dany felt herself relax a little. "Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys are still seeing to the Unsullied as we speak. Grey Worm…" Missandei hesitated but continued. "Grey Worm has brought Ser Jorah's body back to the castle."

To that, Daenerys felt the same pang in her heart that she felt when Viserion died or when she saw the Dothraki charge into their deaths.

_Gone._

_They're gone._

_Jorah's gone._

_Fighting in a war they weren't supposed to, for a land, they have no connection with._

"And you? how are you my friend?" she asked, trying to free her mind of dark thoughts. "What was it like? Were you afraid?"

"I…it was terrifying Your Grace."

"I heard what happened in the crypts." Daenerys sighed again, angry at herself and all the others. "I can't believe none of us thought it would be a bad idea to put everyone in the place the Stark family's ancestors have rested," she shook her head. "I'm sorry for putting you in harm's way," Daenerys tried to swallow down her quiet sob.

"None of you could have known." Missandei squeezed her hands. "There were bigger issues in all of our minds."

Daenerys knew that, but it did not ease the feeling of remorse in her chest that her friends and advisors almost died in a place they were supposed to be safe. "And the others? Lady Sansa? Is she alright?" Dany asked as she wiped away the single tear that slid down her face. Even though her reception by the Lady of Winterfell had been hostile, to put it nicely, she was still Jon's sister and therefore she cared for the woman's safety. Their conversation in the library sparked a little hope in her chest that maybe they would be able to find common ground in the future, even if the conversation had ended with the ever-present question of Northern independence.

"Lady Sansa is fine, Your Grace," Missandei answered. "Although…"

"What happened?" Daenerys asked as she noticed Missandei's uncomfortable expression.

"Words about you were spoken between Lady Sansa and Lord Tyrion before the dead rose in the crypts," Missandei said hesitantly. "Lord Tyrion had brought up the memory of their marriage and…Lady Sansa was adamant that a relationship between them would never work."

"Why?" Daenerys asked.

"She said…" Missandei tried to find the words. "She said that Lord Tyrion's divided loyalties would be a problem. To me, it sounded like–"

"Like she never even intends to develop a working alliance between us." Daenerys finished for her.

"Yes, Your Grace. I just wanted to let you know."

Daenerys sighed and dropped her gaze to the hand that was resting in her lap, her other hand still warm in Missandei's grasp. "I was out there, fighting for her home, and she was down there, speaking ill of me to my own people."

"Maybe it's something that can be worked on, Your Grace," Missandei tried to reassure her. "You've talked to her once, and you said you seemed to find common ground. She'll come to see what we see, Your Grace, what…her brother sees."

"Her _brother_…" Daenerys gaze remained at her lap, but instead of focusing on her hand, her eyes drifted to her stomach. She looked up at her friend again and turned fully toward her, grabbing her other hand too. "There are some things I have to tell you…"

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

Not even an hour after the Maester examined her – and sooner than he allowed it – Daenerys was back on her feet and was walking around Winterfell. She first exchanged a few words with her advisors then went to see the injured again – Grey Worm, who had a cut on his leg, and all the others who had been hurt during the battle. After ensuring that everyone was receiving proper treatment, she made her way through the gates to where the funeral was soon about to begin.

Her thoughts went immediately to Jon. He was exhausted but unharmed, luckily. She longed for nothing more than to see that he was alright with her own eyes.

_But there's no time for it now._

She knew they would have to talk eventually about his parentage, there are a lot of things they would have to discuss.

But now, it was time to light the funeral pyre, to say goodbye to friends and family, to fellow men and women who had set aside their differences to fight together.

_Her Dothraki._

_Her Jorah._

And she made sure that they brought her sweet son's bones to the pyre, so she could say her farewell to Viserion this time.

It was time to say goodbye.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

Jon stood silently as he watched the fire burning the pyre. On it lay those who had given their lives for the greater good the day before. Everyone was gathered to say their goodbyes to fellow men and women, sons and daughters, mothers and fathers. To friends and to those who used to be enemies, but had put aside their differences to fight together, to die together so that those who survived, could live in a world where the Others would no longer be a threat.

_Friends and family_, Jon's heart clenched at the thought as he looked to his right where Sansa stood. She too was looking intently at the fire, at Theon's body, he realized.

After the battle, Bran told them that Theon gave his lie in order to give enough time to Melisandre and the Red Priestess to protect him. He gave his life, so they would have a chance.

Jon hadn't realized the depth of their relationship until he saw Sansa breaking down upon hearing their brother's words. She reassured everyone that she would be fine and that she knew Theon's greatest sacrifice must have filled him with pride in his last moments.

Jon decided then that he would ask Sam to write a memoir about the battle in order to preserve the memory of the people who had given their lives. It was the duty and honor of the survivors to keep the memories alive for those who would come after them. Everyone in the world owed them a debt, a debt that could never be repaid.

_These men and women gave their lives for each other, and we shall never see their likes again,_ Jon thought as he looked over to Daenerys, who like Sansa, was staring at the fire and at one person in particular.

_Jorah._

Jon knew how hard the news of Jorah's death had been on Daenerys. She was broken when he found her next to Viserion and, as if losing half of her army and her son the second time wasn't enough, the news of Jorah dying while trying to save the last member of his house, Lyanna, seemed to crush her. Even though his sacrifice had been noble, in the end the fierce little girl was killed by a wight giant not long after Jorah's death.

Daenerys wanted to be alone after hearing the news. Jon didn't like it, but had no success in arguing with her, so he let her go and that was the last time they had spoken alone. During the following day, he saw her moving in and around the castle, giving orders and overseeing the works that had started. He didn't want to bother her for he knew she needed the distraction, but when he saw that she still had blood on her face and realized the cut on her head had not yet been treated by the Maester, he sought out Missandei and asked her to try to convince her queen to rest for a few hours. Jon knew that if Daenerys would listen to anyone, it would be her closest friend.

A loud roar snapped him out of his thoughts and pulled his attention away from Daenerys and made him turn his head toward Rhaegal and Drogon. The dragons' cries accompanied by the sound of crackling of fire made his stomach clench once again. Jon could feel Rhaegal's sadness as his own and his eyes again found Daenerys. She didn't look at him, but she didn't have to for him to know she was feeling the same. She had the same connection to Drogon as he had with Rhaegal. Probably stronger, since she was their mother.

The same thoughts that had plagued his mind since Sam told him the truth began to resurface again as he watched Daenerys and listened to the sound of the dragons. He knew a conversation between them about the matter was inevitable, but he did not yet know what it would bring.

Whenever he looked at her, Jon still saw the same Daenerys he had come to know and love. However, he could not see her without also remembering their shared blood.

His heart was torn on the matter, that he knew.

Life had been easier when he didn't know his real identity and his biggest problem had been thinking he would die at the hands of the Night King. The battle had been his focus, the only thing that mattered and he never expected to survive it. Now that the battle was over and they had come out as victors, he had to face the consequences of surviving.

The truth of his parentage was still hard for him to believe. Even if he knew the truth in his heart, his mind kept screaming it couldn't be.

Heart against mind, heir to the Iron Throne or the bastard of Ned Stark.

Being a bastard had always been the biggest part of him. During his childhood, it was his biggest shame, but growing up, he learned to live with it, embrace it even.

And now, it was like his whole existence was a lie. He wasn't the bastard of Ned Stark anymore, Ned Stark wasn't his father anymore.

_He never really had been._

That was the hardest part to accept, but it was also the easiest to believe. If he was Aegon Targaryen, then it meant that Lord Stark had always been honorable and faithful to his wife and family.

_I have to tell them,_ Jon thought as he looked at Sansa and Arya. _They deserve to know the sacrifice our father – their father – made to keep him safe._

He would tell them after, he promised, because it was also _their_ truth to know.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

"Why are we here, Jon?" Arya asked when the four of them arrived at the Heart Tree.

"For the two of you to know the truth," Bran spoke up before Jon could answer. "That's why we're here, aren't we?" it was Bran to ask this time.

"Aye." Jon simply said.

The night before, after the battle, Jon didn't get much sleep. He was tossing and turning in his bed, even though his mind and body ached for it, sleep avoided him for the most part of the night. So instead of trying any further, he got up and paced around in his chamber. He looked back at his bed, which was now empty.

_My bed. Alone._

He thought about seeking Daenerys out, for they needed to talk, more than ever before. But he decided against it, knowing – or at least hoping – she was asleep, tucked in a warm bed, safe somewhere in the castle. She needed to regain her strength. The blood loss from the cut on her head was not life-threatening, but it was enough for him to worry about. _Gods when I saw her blood-soaked face, kneeling on the ground, crying next to the body of Viserion. A sight I never want to see again_.

He was thinking about the truth then, torn between telling his siblings the truth after the funeral or keeping it to himself.

_They deserve to know._

_But Daenerys…_

_They deserve to know. They deserve to know Ned Stark was faithful to their mother._

"What truth?" Arya's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up then, her sisters – _no, cousins_ – standing in front of him, with Bran sitting between them. "What is it, Jon?"

"Our father…your father wasn't unfaithful." Jon said in defeat, walking towards the Tree, putting his hand on it. "He did not have an affair. I wanted you to know that. You deserve to know that."

"What are you two talking about?" Sansa asked, looking between Jon and Bran. "You say our father…?"

"I'm not a Stark," Jon said firmly. "Never have been."

"You are!" he heard Arya's voice and he shot his eyes tightly. _They deserve to know. I want them to know. _"You've always been our brother and you always will be," she argued.

"I'm not," Jon sighed.

'You are!" this time Sansa said.

"I'm not," Jon said as he opened his eyes and released a deep sigh. "My mother…I learned who she is…was." After he was met with silence, he took a deep breath and continued. "My mother was Lyanna Stark and my father…my birth father was Rhaegar Targaryen. He did not kidnap her or rape her. They loved each other."

"You're…Lyanna…" Arya whispered while all Sansa did was cover her mouth with her hands as her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Bran saw it in his visions and Sam confirmed it. He found the records in the Citadel while searching for the possible locations of the dragon glass."

"Confirmed? How? Why was it recorded?" Arya asked.

"He was born Aegon Targaryen. He was born after Lyanna and Rhaegar run away together. By then, the prince has annulled his marriage to Elia so he could wed our aunt. The ceremony was held in secret with only them and the Septon being present," Bran stated. "Jon was never a bastard he was always a trueborn. Only not to a man of House Stark, but to House Targaryen."

"That means…" Arya started to say and Jon's already knew where her mind was going. "You're our…cousin, now?"

For several moments that were felt like an eternity, the two of them stared back at him, while Bran was only staring ahead of himself. Then Arya was looking between Sansa and him.

"You have nothing to say to that?" she asked her incredulously.

"You're the heir. The heir of the Iron Throne, to the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon only managed to snort to that. _Of course, the first thing for her to address._

"Who bloody cares?" Arya asked her sister then turned to him. "Jon, I meant what I said. You've always been and always will be our brother. Always," she took a step closer.

"The Dragon Queen," Sansa continued. "Does she know?"

"She knows but we haven't had time to talk since I told her. It was moments before the dead arrived and I haven't had the time to seek her out ever since. She was…surprised about it," Jon stuttered. _She was not happy or pleased_ he wanted to say but decided against it, knowing how defensively his sisters would react. "But it doesn't matter, she is our Queen and this will change nothing."

"Because you love her," Sansa said in a tone Jon couldn't describe as anything but judgmental.

"I…It doesn't matter."

"But Jon, you're…" Sansa started to protest immediately.

"No, Sansa, don't even start. It doesn't matter!"

"We don't trust her Jon, she's not one of us!" Sansa argued and Jon felt his anger rise. "She'll never be one of us, she's an outsider! She'll never be a part of our family!"

"SHE IS THE REASON YOU'RE ALIVE!" Jon felt his voice grow. "She is the reason you still have a family, Sansa! That you still have a home and your life!" Jon said through gritted teeth while trying to control his sudden annoyance.

_Daenerys saved us all, how could she not see it?_

"You! You are the reason!" Sansa screamed back. "You killed the Night King! You, Bran and Arya!"

Jon groaned in frustration. To his surprise, after a few moments, Arya was the one who spoke up. "Stop it!" she said and turned to her sister. "Jon's right, Sansa. We couldn't have done it without her dragons and armies. All of us would be dead by now if it was not for her men holding back the dead, giving us the chance to get close. And Jon…" she turned to him and continued, "Sansa's also right. We don't trust her, because we don't have a reason to, other than that she provided her help. But she had her own reasons for that…" she sighed.

"I will not turn against her, and she's not a threat to us" Jon stated firmly.

"You can't be sure about that," Sansa rolled her eyes. "She'll take the North from us!"

"That's what it's all about? The Northern independence?" Jon asked. "Look what fighting for the Northern independence have done to us, to our family, Sansa. Why are you so hung up on it?" he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "The North can't stand on its own. The people would be starving in a few years without support from the South. We need a fair ruler who cares about the people enough to not let that happen and Daenerys is that person. If you have any faith in me, you will give her a chance. I don't expect you to trust her immediately. All I ask is for you and the north to _try_, after everything she has done for us."

He was met with silence again. Arya was looking at him while Sansa was fidgeting in her place.

"You are my brother Jon, and I trust you. I promise you, I'll give her a chance. I'll talk to her, soon." Arya said. "But I warn you if there's even a sign that she means to harm you…I'll kill her," she finished and Jon knew from her tone she meant it.

_I wouldn't expect anything else._

He smiled back and reached out with his hands, his sister giving it a reassuring squeeze. He looked at Sansa then, whose face he couldn't read at the moment. "Sansa?"

"You could be a better ruler than her," she stated evenly.

"Sansa…"

"You could rule the Seven Kingdoms, the people would back your claim."

"Sansa!" Jon said more firmly. "You don't like her, I get it. But she did nothing but help you and our people."

"I only want the North and our family safe, Jon."

"It will be safe, Sansa. Just give her a chance." Jon said.

Both he and Arya were looking at her expectingly, and after glancing at Arya, Sansa nodded, to Jon's relief. "Alright…"

Jon turned to speak to all of them again. "Promise me. Promise me in front of the Heart Tree. Take the sacred oath that you'll not tell this to a soul until I say so."

To his relief, all of them nodded and swore to keep that promise.

_I had to do it. They had the right to know._

But he couldn't fight the feeling of dread that slowly settled in him as he watched them leave the Godswood.

_Dany…they had to know._

Sansa's words were still ringing in his head, causing him to question whether what he had done was right.

_But they've sworn a vow, _he tried to reassure himself. _One__ that someone from the North would never break._

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

After the funeral, Daenerys contemplated seeking out Jon, but decided against it when she learned he and his siblings – _cousins_ – had made their way into the Godswood after the fire burned out. She didn't want to intrude on them, and even if Jon would have been alone, she felt out of place in the Godswood, an area the Stark family held so sacred. Also, the celebration dinner was nearing, so she walked into the courtyard where men and women were busy transporting stones to the walls or chopping wood to rebuild what had once been pillars, carts, and roofs, or just running from one point to another, bringing food, water, clothes, and messages. The snow was sparing them for the time being, but not the gusts of cold wind. She saw Jon's wildling – Freefolk as they liked to be called – friend Tormund passing through the gates, carrying a trunk with one of his men. She looked around but, Jon was still nowhere to be seen. She saw Gendry walking in her direction. His steps slowed down and he halted when he noticed her.

"Impressive what can be achieved in one night, isn't it?" She asked, encouraging him to come closer. _I have to show them they have no reason to fear me. _She tried to put on a gentle smile and was glad when the man stopped next to her. She was pleasantly surprised when he bowed in front of her and addressed her as his queen.

"Indeed it is, Your Grace," he agreed.

Her intention was to talk to Jon first and foremost, but he was nowhere to be found_. He needs a moment to catch his breath after everything. There's so much to do and he deserves to spend time with his family after years apart._

Since it was becoming obvious she would only be able to have time alone with Jon after the dinner that night, Daenerys was glad her path had taken her to Gendry since she intended to talk to him anyway. She started walking towards the forge and motioned for Gendry to follow her. When they arrived, she signaled to her guards to stay behind.

"Gendry, is it?" she asked. "That's right isn' it?"

"Yes, Your Grace," he said hesitantly.

She walked around as her fingers graced the dragon glass blades that were half–done, never finished before the army of the dead arrived. She stopped then and moved around to face him, her head held up high. "You're Robert Baratheon's son." It was more of a statement than a question for she already knew the answer.

"Yes, Your Grace" he nodded, fidgeting in his place.

"You are aware he took my family's throne and tried to have me murdered since I was just a little girl?"

"I didn't even know I was his son. Only after he died."

"How did you come to know the information, then?" she asked curiously.

Gendry took a breath and looked deep in thought. "The red woman, Melisandre told me," he said.

"You knew her?" Daenerys asked surprised. "You knew Melisandre?"

"I did, yes, but only briefly. She…wanted to use my blood for her dark magic. That's when I learned," he said. "But Robert was long gone, so I never really saw myself as his son, Your Grace."

"Yes, he's dead, just like his brothers." Daenerys nodded and walked closer to him, trying to create an easier atmosphere. "Who's Lord of Storm's End now?"

Gendry looked up at her with a surprised look, as if sensing where she was going with the conversation. "I don't know, Your Grace."

Daenerys took a breath and smiled at him, her hands clasping together in front of her, her body taking up a queenly posture. "Perhaps we should do something about that." Gendry was looking at her with so many expressions painted on his face, but before he could say anything, Daenerys changed the subject for a more urgent matter. "If I remember correctly, you were there when the small party captured the wight beyond the wall, correct?"

"Yes, Your Grace, I was," he said and the slight tension between them had broken thanks to the shared experience. "I was the one who sent the message to you to rescue us."

"Right," Daenerys remembered. She picked up a blade and twirled it around her hands, her mind traveling back to that day. "Then you know how my dragon died."

To that, Gendry only curtly nodded.

She examined the weapon in her hands and tried to think about how to approach the subject. Without any better option, she went for honesty. "I have a favor to ask. You did a spectacular job with the weapons and I know you must be tired. But I had the …well, not the fortune, but rather the opposite, to learn that my dragons are more vulnerable than I would have ever thought. I need them to have protection."

"What kind of protection, Your Gace?" Gendry asked, not really understanding what she was proposing.

Dany put the blade down and turned to him again. "Armor. For my dragons," she said. "Would you do that for me?"

"Uhm…I–I…yes, of course, but…" Gendry mumbled. "How? I mean…I would have to take measurements…and…"

"That won't be a problem, don't worry," she said and actually had to surpass a laugh at his baffled expression. "As long as I'm with you, of course," she smiled.

"Alright…" he swallowed.

"Don't worry, I won't hold it against you if you say no. I understand that my dragons can be… intimidating."

"No, no…" he said quickly. "It would be my honor, Your Grace," he bowed. "After all, what other smith can say he made armor for dragons," he laughed. "I'll be the most famous smith of all." he bowed slightly again.

"We'll arrange a meeting then, soon." Dany nodded. "Thank you."

Before either of them could say more they heard someone clear their throat.

None other than Arya Stark stood at the door. She had been watching their exchange curiously for who knows how long. Her eyes landed on Daenerys, on her face was an expression Daenerys couldn't place.

"Lady Stark," she greeted her. Arya didn't say anything but bowed her head, then looked at Gendry.

"Your Grace," she said then turned to Gendry. "Gendry," she greeted him. "You'll get to meet the dragons?" Arya asked with her eyebrow curved up.

Daenerys and Gendry looked at one another for a moment, then Daenerys turned to Arya with a questioning look.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, I did not mean to eavesdrop," she said.

"There's nothing to forgive, My Lady," Daenerys reassured her. Then a thought came to her mind, a memory of a conversation with Jon from their time together on the boat about his sister's childhood fascination and love for Targaryen heroines and their dragons. Without thinking on about it too much, she recalled Missandei's advice to try and get to know the people of the North and to make them see her for who she was. "Lady Stark," she started. "I was about to visit my dragons. Would you like to accompany me?"

Even if for only a passing moment, the spark in Arya's eyes wasn't lost to Daenerys. After a curt nod as an answer, the two of them left the forge and headed out to the clearing where her sons rested.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

She dismissed her guards once they were outside of Winterfell's gates and at the edge of the clearing. Drogon and Rhaegal were already in sight. They must have sensed their mother's approach because they were already up when they arrived. The time Dany had spent with her sons since arriving at Winterfell had provided her with the comfort she needed but had not gotten from the people of the north.

When they got close, both dragons let out the contented, low–pitched rumbling with which they always greeted her. Both of them moved to make room for her between them but stopped and dropped their heads close to the ground curiously once they noticed Daenerys wasn't alone.

Her sons studied Arya Stark with such intelligence in their eyes.

"They're enormous," Dany heard Arya's voice who stayed a few feet behind her, afraid to approach too quickly lest the dragons mistake her for a threat, trying to not give them a reason to take her approach as an attack.

"Jon has told me about your…fascination with them," Daenerys said while she stroked the snout of Drogon, calming him, murmuring that Arya posed no threat to them.

"I've been wanting to see them up close ever since I've laid eyes on them," she said while taking cautious, slow steps closer. "They're gorgeous!" A few minutes passed in silence, with Arya staring at her sons with nothing but awe, her face showing something Dany had never seen on Arya's face before. She couldn't help but smile herself. She knew Arya was deadly, much deadlier than her appearance would let on – she helped Jon kill the Night King, after all – but seeing her like this was something Daenerys never expected.

"Come, they won't bite," Dany said and motioned for Arya to come closer. To her surprise, now without hesitation, Arya approached them. Daenerys watched her as she slowly reached her hand out, stepping closer and closer to Drogon. He eyed her curiously as she moved in front of him, while Rhaegal was looking at her from a few steps away. Dany's hand still rested on her son's snout so she was able to feel his rumbling as Arya got closer. She caressed him and whispered soothing words to him in Valyrian until his rumbling subsided and finally, Arya's hand joined hers on Drogon.

To her surprise, Arya looked at her with a wide grin spread across her face to which Daenerys answered with her own smile.

"I can't fucking believe I'm touching a dragon," Arya gasped.

Dany smiled at her expression. "You have the same face as Jon had," she said while she continued to stroke her son's snout, remembering the time she arrived back to Dragonstone after the battle with the Lannister army. It was one of her most cherished memories, seeing Jon reaching out to pet Drogon. She can still remember how her heart was in her throat, then watching in amazement as her son accepted his touch after only a tentative sniff. The sight had stirred something within her back then.

_Now I know why._

"You love him," Arya said matter of factly. "You're _in love_ with him."

"I do…I am," Dany answered honestly as she saw no reason to lie. "Does that bother you?"

"Depends," Arya shrugged as she looked back at Drogon.

Daenerys felt that there was no room for further conversation on the subject. Arya would have already made up her mind, either way, all she could do was be honest.

_I do love him._

_But I'm his aunt. Even the idea of us together will disgust him._

She shook her head to get rid of the assumptions that plagued her mind. _Don__'t make up your mind until the two of you have talked. _"He likes you," Daenerys said as her son let out a breath through his nostrils, blinking.

Arya turned her head, smiling.

"Does he? How do you know?"

"If he didn't like you, you would know by now," she tried to joke and was rewarded with a little laugh from Arya. "I just…feel it. I can feel what they feel."

"Does Jon too?" Arya nodded towards Rhaegal.

The question caught Dany by surprise, realizing she never asked Jon after their trip to the waterfall whether he felt close to Rhaegal. "I guess so. He's his rider now," Dany said. "Dragon riders are…connected to their dragons."

"I've had a direwolf before," Arya spoke up then. "Nymeria."

"Like Ghost?"

Arya nodded. "She's not with me anymore, though. I set her free after I realized she belongs in the wilderness. To roam the lands freely."

Dany contemplated her words. "You have that in common?"

"You can say that, yes," Arya said but was startled suddenly when Drogon moved away, probably getting enough of the attention for now. The two dragons moved away to go back to rest, their bodies tired after the long night of battle.

"We should leave them for now," Daenerys said and the two women started to walk back.

"What's it like to ride them?" to Dany's surprise, Arya was the one to stir start a conversation on their way back.

"Terrifying at first, but magnificent. Nothing in the world can compare to it," Dany answered. "You were really brave around them. Standing so close, most people would be frightened that they would be killed, while actually, their fear is what would lead to their deaths. Dragons are intelligent creatures and they can sense bravery. It's something they respect."

"I've read stories about them and the Targaryen warriors while growing up. I have to admit, I was in awe, standing on the castle wall, watching you and my brother atop your dragons, burning all the dead."

"Did you have favorites?" Daenerys asked curiously, happily talking about something she could bond with Arya over.

"All the heroines," she said with a small smile.

"And now, you've become one," Daenerys realized. "You had a great role in destroying the Night King. It's an act that will be remembered for a long time in the future. And your name with it."

Arya nodded in gratitude. "Maybe one day, years from now, a little girl will hear stories about us and will want to be a knight rather than a princess. Just like we did when we were little girls."

They reached the gates, but before her guards could join them, Dany felt Arya gabbing her forearm, stopping them in their tracks. "We both fought in a war some say only men should have fought in. I'm thankful you came to our aid, but other than that, I don't know you. I don't have a reason to trust you…" Arya said. "Yet…"

"Yet…" Dany repeated the word.

"I didn't mean to offend you," Arya said honestly. "I respect you for everything you've done for us. I just don't know you and you don't know me either. My family is the most important thing to me, and I would kill anyone to protect them. You don't trust me, for I have given you no reason to do so. But I'm willing to change that."

Daenerys contemplated her words and found herself agreeing. She was foolish to think that just because she provided them help, they would trust her immediately. Trust is something you earn, not immediately receive, and from now on, she'll work on to earn theirs. "For now, that's good enough for me," Dany agreed. "I grew up being a runaway, I know how hard it is to trust strangers," she added. 'The world can be a cruel place and there is nothing more important than family, if it's a loving one. You're right to cherish it as long as you can."

Arya nodded in agreement and they started to walk inside the castle walls. "The first step is that you promise you'll let me watch when Gendry meets your dragons," she said and from the corner of her eyes, Daenerys could see her cheeky smile.

"It will be a sight to behold," she said while trying to suppress a smile of her own. She failed and a moment later Arya joined in the quiet snickering.

"Come, Your Grace," she said as the two of them walked inside the castle. "We have a celebration dinner to attend."

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

From his place of honor at the high table, Jon could see everyone gathered in the Great Hall of Winterfell. People were jesting and laughing at each other, drinking until their cups were empty, only to be refilled again. Bran was missing from the celebration, and only the Old Gods knew where he was – both physically and spiritually, but everyone else he knew was there.

Arya seemed to be surprisingly happy and carefree – in a way that Jon had only seen years ago before he set out for the Wall – with Brienne and her squire Podrick, Jaime Lannister, and Gendry sitting around her. He had been surprised and delighted to see her arriving in the company of Daenerys when the celebration started. After their talk in the Godswood earlier, Arya had promised him she would try to get to know the Queen better, but a part of Jon believed it was just an empty promise made in order to reassure him, so his sister's attempt to bond with the Queen just hours later was a pleasant sight.

Speaking of Daenerys, Jon stole a glance at the Queen, who sat at his left. Even though it was a celebration dinner, her posture was composed and calm, with one hand resting gently in her lap and the other on the table, while her eyes scanned the crowd with a small smile. The time that Jon and Daenerys had spent in each other's company - exploring each other's bodies – had given Jon the ability to see behind that mask of hers and to see the true emotions she often tried to hide. Her usually stoic mien was replaced by slightly furrowed brows, a hard stare, and a clenched chin that were almost imperceptible to everyone but him, no matter how hard she was trying to hide it with that small smile. She could never fool him. Her smile did not reach her eyes.

His trance was broken when Tormund shoved a horn of ale into his face. "Drink it, little crow!" The giant man's deep voice rang through the whole room.

"Tormund…" Jon tried to protest, half-drunk and definitely light headed.

"Drink it, Snow! All of it! It's a celebration after all!"

"I'm not drinking that in one go, no," Jon shook his head as he stared at the fully filled horn.

"Go on, Jon! I believe in you!" Jon heard Sansa's encouraging voice.

"Vomiting is _not_ celebrating!" he tried to protest further but he already knew it would fall on deaf ears.

"Yes, it is. Tonight, it is!" Tormund said as he shoved the drink into Jon's hand, grabbed his fingers with his and closed them around the horn.

_Well, here it goes then_, he thought before gulping down the offered ale at once. He felt it burning his throat before the familiar warm feeling of alcohol spread through him. With a frown, he put the horn down on the table with a thud. Loud claps and shouting erupted around him as Jon felt Tormund slapping his shoulder, the force of it causing him to bend over slightly.

"And I saw you, little crow! I saw you, too, riding that thing!"

_Tormund, you've drunk enough_, Jon thought. "I did," Jon nodded curtly.

"That's why we agreed to follow you. Because that's the kind of man you are," Tormund said as he clasped his shoulder again. "You keep on fighting and fighting. You climb on a fucking dragon then you kill that ice fucker! What kind of person does that? A king or a madman, if you ask me!"

Jon knew that Tormund didn't mean any harm, but he flinched at his words, knowing what they meant for Daenerys and, well, himself too. His thoughts drifted to Daenerys again and he turned around to look at her reaction. She suddenly looked lonely and sad in the middle of the celebration.

_A Targaryen alone in the world…_

_But she wasn't alone anymore, was she?_

Jon suddenly realized that he had been staring at Daenerys for several minutes, much longer than he should, but it was useless to try to turn away. Maybe it was the effect of the ale, or maybe he simply didn't care anymore what the others thought about the depth of his relationship with Daenerys – after all, Sir Davos had let him know that they hadn't fooled anyone since the moment they arrived at Winterfell.

As if sensing his stare, Daenerys turned to him, and her eyes softened as they landed on him. Jon felt as though he was drowning in the deep sea blue orbs. Jon raised his cup to her alone this time, and she answered raising her own. He saw her sipping on the drink once or twice before she put it back down and set back in her chair.

_She must not be used to the taste._

When he was finished he tried a little smile at her, but it died before it could even be born. Jon knew what she wanted, the sparkle in her eyes and the hopeful uncertain smile were telling enough.

Jon wished he could embrace his feelings for Daenerys the same way he had before he knew of their shared blood. He wished more than anything that he could forget his true identity and be the man she wanted him to be. It would be so easy, to stand up, bridge the small – but somehow vast – distance between them and go to her. He could kiss her as he had before, tenderly or roughly, like a silent promise that nothing had to change between them.

But the ugly truth raised its voice in his mind once again.

The dark clouds above him hung more heavily with each passing minute.

⁘ ⁙ ⁘

_A King or a madman?_

Daenerys felt a pang in her heart at Tormund's words. She knew he did not mean any harm by his comment since he wasn't even familiar with the history of her family, or her father. But everyone else who was present was aware. She had fought for these people, lost her own people for them, and yet, they would never see her as someone who could lead them to a better future.

She immediately saw the change in Jon's look.

She could read him like a book by now.

She knew what was on his mind and the uncertainty on his face broke her heart.

_He's torn. He's disgusted_, her mind screamed. She sipped on the ale only twice, then put the almost full cup back on the table. Her hands found her stomach and rested there, her head spun and she felt exhausted. _We're family_, she thought.

"And to the Dragon Queen!" The giant ginger man spoke out again, but this time his voice was calmer and more respectful, which caused everyone else in the room to quiet down and turn their attention to the high table. "She came to our aid when we fools went beyond the wall, and she lost a dragon for it," he said as he raised his cup. "Then fought the same dragon two nights ago, making sure his ugly ass wouldn't burn all of us while knocking that mother fucker off of it. I've seen a fair amount of magic in my life Dragon Queen, but nothing like you atop your beast…like an angel," he finished with a smile, "To the Dragon Queen!"

"Aye, aye!" The hall erupted in yells again as Daenerys stood up and raised her cup in answer.

"And to Arya Stark!" she announced and saw the girl, who was sitting with Gendry, raising her own cup. Arya had also played a huge part in the demise of the Night King, and if it was up to Daenerys, she would not let it go unnoticed. She also deserved their love and recognition, and everyone else who contributed to their victory. "And to everyone else, those who fell and those who survived!"

People all around the hall yelled and cheered at her toast.

"Gendry," she called out, causing the room to quiet again. Daenerys felt everyone's eyes on her.

She saw Gendry standing up nervously. "Your Grace," he bowed.

"We've spoken about your father and about Storm's End earlier," she started but stopped when she saw the people nervously glancing at each other, some of them whispering about what she might do to the poor boy. She took a deep breath and continued. "I've promised you that we ought to do something about it. So rise, Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End!"

For a moment, the air around could've been cut with a knife, but it was interrupted by Sir Davos. "To Gendry Baratheon!"

"To Gendry Baratheon!" the whole crowd followed. Some of them even banged their cups at the table, and to that Daenerys felt herself relax.

But the feeling passed quickly as she saw the Lady of Winterfell staring at her with a bewildered expression on her face. Sansa Stark was looking between her and Gendry, then her eyes landed on Daenerys with nothing but hatred oozing from them, before she got up from her chair abruptly and stormed off.

_Why do they think me a monster? _

_Haven't I proven myself enough?_

Soon after, with a feeling of heaviness, she quietly excused herself and left the hall, leaving the people who caused her nothing but an aching heart behind.


End file.
